Sterek fic
by christopercy
Summary: It hard enough to concentrate in school without Derek invading Stiles every thought!


PLZ REVIEW YOUR THOUGHTS GUYS!

It's hard enough to concentrate in school without Derek invading Stiles' every thought. Teachers drone on at the front of every classroom and Stiles feels like a glass jar has been lowered over his head, obscuring every sound and every reason as to why he should be listening in the first place. All the voices drain out of the room and are replaced with a low, comforting sort of buzzing. It would help if school weren't so insufferably boring, if they were actually learning something useful for once.

So he thinks about Derek. About Derek's mouth, about his voice, about all the little smirks and scowls and emotions that he tries so hard to conceal. He thinks about Derek in his room at night, sprawled on his bed. He thinks about Derek transforming. He thinks about the way Derek laughs. He's only really heard it once, but the sound of it, the way Derek's eyes had crinkled up at the corners – he isn't going to forget that. Derek laughed, for fuck's sake. That was practically a once-in-a-lifetime experience, hearing that. Stiles will savor it until the day he dies.

(Stiles hopes he didn't use up his once-in-a-lifetime chance, though. He'd rather it be an at-least-twice-in-a-lifetime experience. Or more-than-twice. Or even an everyday thing. They could work up to that, maybe.)

Of course, eventually, Stiles thinks of Derek naked. It's hard not to, what with the way Derek actually looks naked. That's not something that can be easily ignored. Stiles thinks about how good it feels to kiss Derek, to have Derek hold him down, the feel of Derek's stubble scraping across his skin –

He gives a half-shout, half-yelp at the hand that lands on his shoulder, shaking him. Scott is standing above his desk, the classroom already mostly empty.

"Stiles? Class is over," Scott says, sounding concerned but amused.

Thank god for you inability to look outside of your own little world, Scott. Stiles had wondered, albeit briefly, about how Scott would react if he found out about him and Derek. He'd narrowed it down to either refusing to believe it, dying of shock, or trying to kill Derek. The last two possibilities don't seem very good, as both would likely result in Scott's untimely death. Scott's his best friend, the only person he'd think of turning to for help, but this goes outside of something Scott would be able to understand. Scott, well, he has his own issues to deal with. Ignorance is bliss.

Derek is in the parking lot when last period ends, his car parked right beside Stiles' jeep. Stiles' heart starts thumping in his chest as soon as he sees him, which is ridiculous. Get a hold of yourself, Stiles. Derek is sitting in his car, idly drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. When Stiles draws closer to the parking lot, Derek looks up and beckons him over. He rolls down his window slowly, peering up at Stiles.

"Uh, everything okay?" Stiles asks, for lack of anything better to say. Derek gazes at him for a long, uncomfortable moment, before nodding.

"Yeah," he says. "Get in the car."

"But I've got the jeep," Stiles protests, pointing behind him. It's not really much of a protest, though. If Derek wants him to get in the car and go somewhere, he will. It doesn't even matter where they're going, not really. Derek probably knows that, too.

"I'll drop you off here after," Derek says. "Get in."

After what? Stiles wants to ask, but he resists. Derek likely wouldn't tell him, anyways. He throws his bag in the back and hops into the passenger seat. Derek peels out of the parking lot before Stiles even has his seatbelt all the way on, and Stiles nearly brains himself on the dash. When he turns to snap at Derek, he catches the edge of a grin just fading away, sliding back into Derek's usual blank mask.

Hah, Stiles thinks. Caught you.

They drive for a while. The first five minutes are filled with so many awkward silences that Stiles feels obliged to start up a nearly endless anecdote about the one time he'd almost accidentally burned down the school library, in excruciating detail. He leaves no room for pauses and almost no room for breath. Derek starts getting a bit wide-eyed around the middle of the tale, and Stiles can't figure out if it's because of the story or because he hasn't exhaled in almost a whole minute.

" – And, of course, the librarian was over in the reference section showing some freshman how to, I don't know, look something up in a dictionary, and I'm like, hello, can you please help me, I think my copy of A Brief History of Time might be on fire –"

"Stiles," Derek says, holding up a hand. "Shut up. Are you hungry?"

"Hungry? No, not really. I ate like two hours ago. My English teacher gave us cupcakes. I can't… I can't actually remember why."

Derek's gaze flickers over to him briefly, then back to the road. "Okay."

They drive for a few more minutes in silence, Stiles' story forgotten. Stiles takes to watching Derek out of the corner of his eye. Derek seems calmer than usual, which is good. Not just for Stiles' general safety, but because it's good to see Derek not about to burst a blood vessel. It's nice.

Eventually they pull into a gravel parking lot. Stiles hadn't been paying much attention to where they were going, but he looks out the window now. They're in one of the parking lots in the forest, normally used by runners and dog-walkers heading out onto the trails. But it's completely deserted now, no other cars in sight. Derek drove them out to where the forest is denser, where the trails are less defined. They're alone.

Derek parks near the back of the lot, facing the car towards the thicker part of the forest. Stiles is about to ask what they're doing here, the question on the tip of his tongue, but then Derek is reaching over the gearshift and pulling Stiles forward into a hungry kiss. Stiles reels a bit in surprise, balancing with a hand on the steering wheel. Derek kisses him hard, tongue slipping in past Stiles' lips easily. Stiles groans. He feels Derek's hand slip down, run over his chest and then cup his half-hard cock through his jeans. Stiles jerks upwards, breaking the kiss.

"I thought about fucking you all day," Derek says roughly, pupils blown. Stiles swallows, mouth suddenly dry, and he chuckles awkwardly.

"What, not even going to take me out to dinner first?" he asks. Derek pulls back slightly, brow creasing.

"I asked if you were hungry," he growls, exhaling heavily through his nose. "Are you hungry?"

"What? No, it's okay, you don't have to. I was just joking."

But Derek is already buckling his seatbelt again and putting the car in reverse.

"There was a McDonald's a mile or so back. We'll go there and you'll eat," he says firmly. "And then we're going to come back here, and I'm going to fuck you."

He looks at Stiles as he says it. Stiles can only nod, a flush spreading hot up his neck.

The McDonald's is fairly crowded, full of screaming kids and tired looking parents. Derek doesn't ask what Stiles wants, just goes up to the counter and orders. Stiles can't figure out if he's pissed off about that, or strangely turned on. Possibly both. He lingers slightly behind Derek, gazing around the restaurant.

The cashier is a short girl around his age, and she smiles at him when she meets Stiles' eyes. Stiles smiles back. Derek pays (which Stiles would protest, but really, there's not much point in protesting anything Derek does) and steps back, a large hand settling on the small of Stiles' back. Proprietary, he realizes a moment later. The cashier frowns and looks away. Derek grabs their food and steers Stiles around, heading for the door. He keeps his hand there – only a light pressure, but impossible to ignore.

"Let's go."

Stiles eats his burger as they drive back to the parking lot, suddenly ravenous. He starts shoving fries into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

"So, uh, why the change of scenery?" he asks, once they're pulling into the lot again. The sky is beginning to darken, and they're still the only ones here. Derek parks and turns slightly to face him.

"Your dad has the night off tonight," Derek says. "So I figured your house wouldn't be a good idea."

"Well, yeah, I guess, but – wait, how the hell do you know my dad's schedule?"

Derek smirks at him. "Did you really think it was a coincidence, me showing up every time your dad was out? Did you think I just sat outside your house every night, waiting for him to leave?"

Stiles frowns. "I can't say I'd be surprised if you did, weirdo."

And then Derek is kissing him. He's still as eager as before, nipping at Stiles' bottom lip and pressing them close together. And just as abruptly, he's pulling away, gesturing to the mess of food on Stiles' lap.

"Clean it up," he says. "I don't want grease stains in my car. And then get in the backseat."

Stiles cleans up as fast as he can, sweeping all of the wrappers and leftover food into the bag and then climbing out of the car. There's a garbage can by the entrance to one of the trails, and he jogs over to it.

Derek is already in the backseat when he returns, smirking at Stiles. Stiles climbs in, shutting the door behind him, and kicks his shoes off. The backseat is cramped, hardly enough room for both of them. Stiles is already breathing hard from anticipation, from the way Derek's eyes keep darting down to his lips. Derek leans in to kiss him again, hands already at Stiles' belt.

"Not exactly the ideal place for this," Stiles mumbles as Derek tries to get his jeans off, which end with Stiles on his back, with his legs in the air, trying to wriggle out of them.

Eventually Derek seizes his ankle and nearly tears the jeans in half when he pulls them off with the other hand. He grabs Stiles' underwear and tugs them off as well, throwing them up to the front seat. He climbs out of the car all together to take his own jeans off, gritting his teeth impatiently. He shrugs out of his jacket and tosses both up to the front.

When he gets back in the car, he nudges Stiles' hips, gesturing to turn over.

"No," Stiles says, breath rattling in his throat. "I want – can we do it like this? I want to see you."

Derek's nostrils flare slightly as he looks at Stiles, fingers digging hard into his hip. Then he nods, moving forward until he's lying flat on top of Stiles, pressing their mouths together. He's heavy, the weight of him making Stiles' breath even shorter, but it feels good, so good. The kiss quickly escalates into something frantic, heated, not much more than a clash of teeth and tongues. Stiles groans when Derek shoves a thigh between his legs, his hips automatically twitching upwards. He wraps an arm around Derek's shoulders, pulling him impossibly closer.

Eventually Derek breaks away and leans over to the driver's seat, presumably to get lube. Stiles' neck is already getting sore from their awkward position in the tiny backseat, his head propped up, his legs splayed all over the seat.

Derek pushes Stiles' legs forward when he returns, bending them until he can settle between Stiles' thighs. He slicks his fingers quickly and bends down to kiss Stiles again, slower this time. He circles around Stiles' entrance with the tip of a finger before carefully pushing it inside. Stiles groans, clenching around the welcome intrusion.

Before Derek, Stiles could never have pictured himself loving something like this, actually genuinely enjoying having some guy's fingers and cock in his ass. But Derek is – Derek is different. He still can't picture himself with any other guy, not without cringing, but that's okay. Derek, kneeling over him with two fingers twisting inside him, Derek kissing him and touching him and being so ridiculous all the time – that's all Stiles wants.

Stiles gasps when Derek presses against his prostate, his thighs shaking with the effort of not rocking down. Derek smirks and pushes another finger inside, hitting his prostate with every stroke.

"God, Derek, please just –"

Derek silences him with a kiss, biting at Stiles' lips. Stiles groans, body twisting, trying to rock down on Derek's fingers.

When Derek pulls out, Stiles whines at the loss, the sudden emptiness. But then Derek is shifting, pushing Stiles' legs forward until they start to hurt. Stiles can feel the head of Derek's cock bumping against the cleft of his ass. But instead of fucking him, Derek scoots back as far as he can and then crouches down.

"Derek, what –"

And then Derek is licking him there, flattening his tongue against Stiles' hole and licking broadly over him. He gasps, straining to stay still. They've never done this before. Derek slips two fingers back inside him, then licks around them slowly, torturously, leaving wet trails of saliva all over Stiles. He can feel precome dribbling down his cock, more beading at the tip every time he feels Derek's tongue press inside him. At this rate, he's going to come before Derek even has his cock in him.

"Please, please, please," he gasps, hips moving in short thrusts. Derek lifts his head and grins, actually grins at him, the bastard. And then he's moving forward and settling down on top of Stiles, pushing inside easily.

The air in the car is already hot, too hot, heavy with sweat and the smell of sex. The leather seats creak with every thrust. Derek's breath fans across his face in hot puffs as he fucks him steadily. Stiles' feet keep smacking against the ceiling of the car, so he plants them there, holding himself still while Derek pounds into him.

"Fuck, Derek," he gasps when Derek hits his prostate, heat and pleasure shooting up his spine.

Derek is breathing hard already, his control starting to dim. His ability to school his expressions is dropping away, revealing the soft parting of his lips, the way his brow creases, the colour blooming across his cheeks and chest. With their faces this close, Stiles can hear all the little moans that Derek lets out. Derek opens his eyes slowly, meeting Stiles' gaze, and then he kisses him so softly, so sweetly, that Stiles is instantly on the edge.

"Derek, I'm gonna –" he starts, but Derek shakes his head.

"Not yet," he rasps out, and then he's lifting Stiles up, the muscles in his arms bulging. He moves them so that he's sitting with Stiles in his lap, cock still buried inside him. Stiles settles into the new position easily, wrapping his arms around Derek's neck and rocking his hips down on Derek's cock. Derek's hands settle on his ass, nails digging in, and then he takes hold of Stiles' hips, guiding his movements.

"I'm close, Stiles, I – fuck," Derek groans, and he tightens his hands on Stiles' hips, holding him down tight against his lap.

Stiles tries to relax, but nothing can ever really prepare him for the feeling of Derek growing inside him. He chokes on a gasp and Derek presses light kisses to his jaw, making soft, apologetic noises in his throat. Then Derek is ducking his head slightly and licking over one of Stiles' nipples, worrying it between his teeth. It feels strange, mostly, but it serves to distract Stiles. Derek laps against his skin and soon stops swelling. Derek groans as he comes, his head tipping back against the headrest, eyes rolling back in his head.

Stiles is still hard, achingly hard, and he tries rocking down, the feeling of Derek heavy and huge inside him dizzyingly good. He feels so full, impossibly full of Derek, his body stretched wide to accommodate him.

Stiles can't help but love this, the feeling of being so close to Derek, tied together. Derek seems to enjoy it too, if the way his face goes slack is anything to go by. He looks at Stiles steadily, his eyes soft and warm. Stiles smiles at him, bending forward to press a chaste kiss against Derek's lips.

It's only a few minutes before they can separate, and Stiles eases off Derek slowly, wincing a bit at the feeling of being so empty, like he's missing something. Once he sits back down on the seat, Derek grasps his thighs and leans down, sucking Stiles' cock into his mouth.

Stiles gasps, threading his fingers through Derek's hair. Derek's mouth is hot and wet and so soft, and it's almost too much. Derek bobs his head, taking Stiles deeper, reaching down to cup Stiles' balls, rolling them gently.

When Stiles comes, Derek doesn't move off him, just swallows every last drop, lips pursed around the head of Stiles' cock. Derek lays his head on Stiles thigh and they both breathe for a moment, silent. Stiles runs a hand through Derek's hair, smiling when Derek pushes up into the touch.

Eventually Stiles struggles back into his clothes, Derek ducking out of the car to do the same. When Stiles is dressed, he opens the car door and stretches languidly, only to realize that they're no longer alone.

"Oh god," Stiles groans. There are three other cars parked in the lot now, and Stiles' mind races, wondering if anyone saw them fucking, if anyone heard them, oh god –

He's interrupted by a snort from Derek. When he turns, Derek is leaning against the car, grinning, looking smug. Stiles feels himself flush heavily at the thought of someone else actually witnessing that, oh god, he's never going to be able to forget about this, but –

But Derek's grin is contagious, and Stiles starts laughing in spite of himself. He shakes his head. It doesn't matter, not really. Derek reaches over and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth, and when he pulls back, he looks so relaxed, so sated and calm and unbothered. No, it doesn't really matter at all.

As they're driving away, Stiles feels, deep inside, Derek's come starting to drip out of him. It should feel disgusting, dirty, but instead it's – it's strangely calming, still having Derek inside him in some way. He groans at the sensation, and if the dark stare Derek gives him is anything to go by, he likely has some idea what Stiles is thinking.

The drive back to the school is mostly silent, but in a comfortable way. Stiles feels warm, still floating in pleasure, the smell of Derek all over him. At some point Derek's hand ends up resting on Stiles' thigh, and he doesn't move it once for the rest of the drive.

Stiles presses his smile into his sleeve, letting his hand curl on top of Derek's.

**THE END!**


End file.
